


I was looking at photos from when we were young

by Masterofkarate



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: (like they drink some beers), Alcohol, Best Friends, Jealousy, Nostalgia, it reflects on their childhood a lil but not too much so i don't think there's anything to tag there, it's literally only teen+ b/c of cursing and alc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 18:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16435025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofkarate/pseuds/Masterofkarate
Summary: In between s12&13 I guess. Charlie's annoyed at the waitress. Has no where to go. Ends up on his mom's couch in the middle of the night. Sees some old pictures of him & Mac and gets sad. Just like a sad/happy cute lil piece abt 2 bffs.insp by the song Photos From When We Were Young by Nana Grizol which captures growing up queer p good so check it out if ur interested"The uncertainty then,Like some sentence of sin,Punctuated by moments of tenderness whenWhen there were long conversations, sharing of beds,Walks home from swimming pools-Giddy, impressionable, the distance grew up like the night."





	I was looking at photos from when we were young

 

Charlie had no peace anywhere. He had no peace at his apartment, which he was sharing with the waitress, which was the absolute worst experience ever. She was berating him, telling him what a horrible father he was, but he wasn’t even a father yet, how could he be horrible at it? And if he was such a horrible father, why did she still want to have his kid? Did his trap work too well? Had his experience trapping rats spill into his interpersonal skills?

After their fight, he stormed out and started walking. He was walking and walking with nowhere to go. Where was there to go, anyway? After Dennis left, dynamics have sort of shifted. Things were different.

It was funny, too, because Dennis wasn’t really Charlie’s best friend. Charlie did love Dennis in a weird way and they had an odd connection sometimes, but everybody knew, deep down in his heart, Mac was Charlie’s best friend. And that sucked because Dennis was Mac’s best friend. And Dennis had no real best friends because he was a cold, emotionless bastard. 

Still, that dynamic made more sense to Charlie than the current dynamic. Mac is still Charlie’s best friend, but Mac would rather be sad about Dennis not being there than happily be best friends with Charlie.

Charlie knew Mac didn’t realize that he saw it this way. Charlie knew how stupid Mac thought he was. And Mac was right, Charlie was stupid, but not when it came to Mac. Charlie understood Mac better than anything. He’d grown up with Mac. They’d been through everything together. Even if Charlie wasn’t Mac’s best friend, Mac understood Charlie too, better than most people at least.

Pondering this didn’t help Charlie decide where he was going to stay the night. He wanted to avoid Mac’s place. He was so amped up about the waitress that if Mac insulted him in any way or brought up Dennis at all, Charlie would fight him. Charlie did not want to fight with Mac. He wasn’t in the mood for Dee today, women were too much. The bar was a possibility, but who knows if any of them would be there after hours, up to some crazy shit as usual. He wasn’t the only one from the gang who wandered in there late at night sometimes.

He didn’t even realize that he ended up at his mom’s house until he was there. He didn’t know why he was there, there was no comfort in his childhood home. There wasn’t even comfort in his mom. Of course, he loved his mom, but that didn’t mean she brought him any comfort. He, more often than not, was the one providing the comfort throughout his life.

Still, he was here. And it was late. And he was drunk. The downstairs lights were off. Everybody was probably asleep. Mrs. Mac was notorious for going to sleep early and waking up late. That woman loved few things, sleep was one of them.

He took his spare key and unlocked the front door. There would probably be a scene in the morning, when his mom was surprised by a man sleeping on the couch. She probably wouldn’t immediately realize it was Charlie and scream. Charlie knew that, but he just couldn’t find it in himself to care today. Plus, in the end, when she realized it was Charlie, she’d be happy to see him. It would be nice to have somebody happy to see him for once. It feels as if it had been quite some time since that had happened.

He creeped quietly through the living room. He didn’t turn on the ceiling light, instead he flicked on the small lamp next to the couch. He sat down and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, rubbing his face. What was he doing? What was he doing with the waitress? With his life? Everything felt so empty and pointless. 

After a few minutes of enjoying self-pity, he rose and walked to the kitchen. He was as quiet as possible as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He smiled as he looked down at the can of Natty Ice in his hand, remembering when he and Mac would steal these from Mac’s family fridge regularly. The cans looked different back then, but Natty Ice was cheap back then and it’s cheap now.

With the can in one hand, he pulled out a half pound of white American deli cheese, sliced extra thin, with the other. He brought the items to the kitchen table. He sat, ate his cheese, and drank his beer. It worked, for the most part. His life still sucked and there was no sign it would get better, but right now was okay. He didn’t feel like he was breaking. He was much calmer.

He ate almost all of the cheese before putting it away. He threw out his can and got another one before heading back to the living room. Maybe sleep would catch him soon. He sat on the couch and thought about turning on the TV, but he decided against it, not wanting to wake anybody. Mrs. Mac could sleep through the dropping of the bombs, but Charlie was shocked his mom hadn’t woken up through even his quiettest noises yet. The TV was a bad idea.

He sighed and placed his beer down, using a binder that was on the coffee table as a coaster. He didn’t feel like getting an actual coaster on the opposite side of the table, but he also knew how big of a deal coasters were in his mom’s house. Coasters were one of those things that made sense to parents, but not ever to anybody else. Charlie wondered if coasters would make sense to him if he got the waitress pregnant.

He lounged out on the couch. He closed his eyes. And then he tossed. And he turned. From side to side. His back. His stomach. Sleep didn’t catch him. It was not coming for him. Maybe it was because he was sleeping alone. Or the light from the streetlamp streaming in through the window. Or the lack of cat food. It was probably that he couldn’t stop thinking, though.

He sighed and blindly reached out for his beer, knocking it over in the process. Hissing out a quiet curse, he sat up and snatched a wad of tissues out of the box. He dabbed it on the coffee table first, then the binder. He then opened up the binder to ensure that it hadn’t gotten wet on the inside.

When he opened it, he realized it wasn’t a boring binder. No, it was a scrapbook. He never really liked scrapbooks. First of all, they were books. Second of all, they didn’t have scraps in them at all- no leftover food or junkyard treasures- just pictures. Third of all, he hated pictures.

Still, he couldn’t help but smile a little at the page he’d opened up to. He noticed that there were no pictures on the left side of the page, just the right, and there were only three pictures. The one on top was of Bonnie and Charlie outside of his childhood church, which was only a few blocks down from his mom’s house. Charlie is dressed in a suit that was almost two sizes too big, but wearing converse sneakers. Bonnie was beaming, but Charlie was looking in the other direction, distracted. The camera angle was tilted, not artistically, and there was obviously a finger covering the upper right-hand of the frame. 

Down and to the right of that picture was a picture of just Charlie in front of the Church. Again, he was distracted, but he was looking in the other direction and he was laughing. His hair was even more tousled than the previous picture, for some reason. He looked really happy. He couldn’t remember why though.

The last picture is what made adult Charlie smile. It was him and Mac. Mac was only a few inches taller than him, but he held his chin up to look even taller. He always did that in pictures when they were young. Mac had his arm slung over Charlie’s shoulder and Charlie had his arm around Mac’s waist. 

He remembered that day pretty well. Mac wanted to go to church, but his parents couldn’t be bothered. He hadn’t worded it that way, he made up excuses for them, as he always had and always will. Charlie hated church, but knew how much it meant to Mac. So, he asked his mom if the three of them could start going to church together, every week, not just on holidays. Charlie’s mom was so proud of him for wanting to go to church (not understanding that it was really Mac’s desire) that she snapped pictures of them after the service. Even though Charlie hated church, he still had fun, because Mac was there.

Things were so simple then. So happy. Mac was his best friend and he was Mac’s and that was that. And that’s why the picture made him smile. 

He remembered when they did nice things for each other. Charlie going to church. Mac getting his ass beaten countless times while trying to defend Charlie. Charlie teaching Mac how to huff glue when Mac was having a panic attack (not that either of them knew that’s what it was called). Mac copying all of his homework with his left hand, so Charlie could turn it in as his own. Charlie missed his best friend.

He spent some time flipping through the scrapbook. More time than he’d ever spent looking through a scrapbook in his whole life. Every page was the same. There were no pictures on the left side and exactly three on the right. Every single page had at least one picture of Mac and Charlie together. And they were almost always grinning or laughing.

There were even some candid pictures, pictures that Charlie did not even know existed. A picture of Charlie and Mac sitting on the living room floor with Omnibot between them, Charlie’s head is tilted back as he laughs. A picture of the two boys in the kitchen, Charlie is standing on a chair to reach something in a cabinet, and Mac is standing behind him with his hands out to keep Charlie from falling. A picture of them on their matching bikes, riding down the street, away from the house.

They looked so happy in all of the pictures. So focused on each other and nothing else. Their lives sucked back then, even more than they suck now, but it didn’t feel that way because they always had each other.

And like sure, Mac was still his best friend, but it wasn’t the same. They didn’t laugh like this. They didn’t help each other when shit sucked. They didn’t have each other’s backs the way they used to.

It was a mixture of the beer and the nostalgia that put Charlie’s phone in his hands. He was so grateful that he’d gotten a smartphone (well, Frank got it for him because of a deal the store was offering), because now he could text. His last phone could text, but he didn’t. He always sounded like an idiot and everybody always pointed that out. Now, there were emojis. 

He sent mac a picture of a phone, a picture of lips, followed by a question mark. Less than ten minutes later, he was receiving a call from Mac.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Charlie asked in a whispering voice as he walked towards the front door of the house, bringing his can of beer with him.

“Don’t hey man what’s up me,” Mac spat out quickly, harshly. “Why are you whispering? It’s four am, something better be wrong.”

“Dude, calm down,” Charlie sighed, speaking at a normal volume as he closed the front door behind him. He sat on the front porch step and looked up at the sky. “I just. I wanted to talk, dude. I missed you.” 

“You missed me? We were just at the bar together three hours ago!”

“Yeah, but like, not that way.”

“What the hell, Charlie?”

“Listen, can you meet by St. August’s?”

“August? You mean St. Augustine’s?”  
“Yeah, yeah, do that!”

“The fuck Charlie? That’s a half hour walk. I’m not going to hang out with you at a Church at four thirty in the morning.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Charlie, what’s going on?”

“Just do it, dude. It’s an emergency.”

“Fine. I’ll be over.”

“Cool, bring some good beer too.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you soon.”

Charlie went back inside and tried to make traces of his visit as little as possible. He went to the fridge and shoved one beer in each of his pants pockets. Before he left, he grabbed the scrapbook and put it under his arm before walking out, locking the door, and heading down the street.

Charlie was sitting on the front steps of the church, beer in one hand, scrapbook open on his lap. The street lighting wasn’t enough to see the details in the pictures, but he still looked down at the seemingly black, shiny papers. He wasn’t smiling this time, though. Probably because of the phone call with Mac. If they had cell phones when they were kids, that kind of call would have been normal and welcomed. Now, it was not. Obviously.

It was easy to see how and when things changed. Charlie was pretty sure there was no changing it back ever. Even with Dennis gone in Wyoming or New Hampshire wherever the fuck he was. Actually, now more than ever, it was evident it would never be the same again. It was pretty obvious that Mac was missing something that Charlie couldn’t provide. And that made Charlie feel like shit. Your best friend not being your best friend anymore doesn’t hit you too hard until you can’t help them when they feel shitty.

Charlie hadn’t heard Mac approaching. Mac didn’t announce himself. Still, Charlie didn’t jump when he felt a body sitting beside him. Maybe Mac saw that he was sad. Maybe Mac could help him. Maybe they could be best friends.

“What’re you doing, buddy?” Mac asked as he placed a six pack of Troegs (he really did bring the  _ good  _ beer) down on the step beside him.

“I went to my mom’s house,” Charlie shrugged. “She had this scrapbook out on the table.”

“I can’t see shit out here,” Mac said, Charlie could hear a small smile in his voice, not the usual frustration. Mac reached into his pocket to grab his cell phone, turning on the flashlight, aiming it down at the scrapbook.

Mac and Charlie both laughed when they saw the picture they were looking down at. It was Halloween, sometime in the 80s, they look like they're in late elementary school. They wanted to be wrestlers for Halloween and crafted their costumes themselves, using acrylic paint Mrs. Kelly's pantyhose to make spandex and wearing underwear over their heads. They looked ridiculous, but they looked happy.

“Oh my god, I thought we were so badass,” Charlie laughed out loud.

“Dude, we were,” Mac insisted. “Like, we didn’t look as badass as I remember, but we wrestled for like hours! I kicked your ass!”

“Did not, I remember it clearly remember, I won at least like half the times!” 

“Yeah right, dude, if you won, it’s because I let you.”

“Well if you let me, it’s only because I intimidated you into letting me.”

“You couldn’t intimidate shit back then, Charlie.”

“But I can now? You gonna admit I’m more badass than you?”

“I never said that, asshole.”

Charlie laughed and jabbed Mac’s side gently. Mac flung his arms over Charlie’s shoulder, pulling him into a half-hearted, poorly executed choke hold and pressing his knuckles against Charlie’s already messy hair. Charlie wiggled and wormed away from Mac, the two of them laughing hard. After enough pushing and tugging and laughing, Charlie ended up slumped against Mac’s chest with Mac’s arm around Charlie’s waist. The two of them were still laughing, although the power between the laughter was sputtering out, as if they were running out of air in their lungs.

“So you said it was an emergency,” Mac said quietly after their laughter had altogether stopped.

“I lied,” Charlie shrugged.

“I figured.” Mac leaned forward and pulled two bottles of Troegs out of the pack, handing one to Charlie. “So, spill it. Why the hell are we sitting at our childhood church at four in the morning?”

“I dunno, man,” Charlie huffed in frustration. Of course Mac didn’t already get it. When they were kids, Mac would have got it. They’re not kids anymore. They’re not best friends the way they used to be. “The pictures, I just, like, we were crazy, dude.”

“And you’re still crazy,” Mac said, squeezing Charlie just a bit closer to him. 

“That’s not what I mean,” Charlie sighed. He tugged away from Mac’s hold and ran his hand through his own hair contemplatively. 

“Charlie, c’mon, tell me what’s wrong, man. I didn’t come all the way out here just to look at some old pictures and have you pretend nothing’s the matter. If you want to talk to me, talk to me,” Mac finally pushed with a frustrated sigh.

“It’s just…” Charlie shifted his weight from buttcheek to buttcheek. He looked down at the ground, eyes shifting over every inch of the dark pavement, as if there were any answers there. “We used to be best buds, we did everything together. You were my  _ only  _ friend, Mac. And now things are different, and I feel like I’m never going to have my best friend back.” 

“Is this because you feel uncomfortable being my best friend now that I’m gay?” Mac asked only a moment after Charlie finished speaking.

“Fuck, Mac, man do you even listen?” Charlie asked, jaw tightening. “No, it’s not ‘cause you’re gay. It’s just me and you, you don’t have to pretend I didn’t know earlier. Of course I’m cool with you being gay, I just wish you were less gay for Dennis. Well, you can be gay for Dennis or whatever, just like, don’t forget that I’m your friend too.”

“Dennis isn’t even here, I don’t miss Dennis!” Mac said quickly, arching his lower back to straighten his spine.

“Dude, you miss Dennis,” Charlie said simply, although he was smiling a little bit. “And if I were your best friend, you’d tell me that.”

“Alright, whatever, I miss Dennis,” Mac sighed, shifting away to look Charlie in the eyes. “But you are my best friend, Charlie. I don’t know what happened, dude, but I miss you too.”

“Yeah?” Charlie asked quietly. His slightly upturned lips evolved into a complete grin, showing his teeth, reaching his eyes.

“Yeah, man. I love you. You were my best friend too, I don’t think I would have survived being a kid without you,” Mac said, placing his hand over Charlie’s shoulder comfortably, pulling Charlie in closer.

“You know the good thing about you being gay now? You actually hug me and shit now, it’s cool,” Charlie laughed.

“Yeah, it is cool, isn’t it?” Mac laughed, resting his head against Charlie’s.

“So like, how do we become best friends again?” Charlie asked as they rested close to each other.

“We never weren’t,” Mac insisted, laughing. 

“But like, we weren’t, dude,” Charlie answered. 

“I know man,” Mac sighed. He pulled away and held the bottle against his lips, tilting his head back to take a long, full sip. When his lips pulled off with a pop, he asked, “Hey, let’s go back to my place. It’ll be like the old days, some booze, maybe a video game or a movie, we’ll pass out at sunrise, make Dee and Frank deal with the bar tomorrow?”

“Yeah, dude, let’s go,” Charlie laughed. He sprung up, knees propelling him upward, nearly jumping as he rose. He tucked the scrapbook under his arm and held his open bottle in his other hand. Mac held a bottle of beer in one and the case in the other. The two took to walking back to Mac’s, filling the air with memories and laughter and jokes the whole way. By the time they arrived, the streets were slowly coming to life, work vans driving down the narrow roads, sun rising above them, store owners making their ways inside. A new day was starting. A good day.


End file.
